


You Run Away (Or: Five Places Natasha Visited and the One Place She Stayed)

by the_wordbutler



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (sort of), 5+1 Things, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Fix-It, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-20
Updated: 2016-05-20
Packaged: 2018-06-09 17:04:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6915727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_wordbutler/pseuds/the_wordbutler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tony tells Natasha to run, she actually follows his advice.</p>
<p>Where she ends up is an entirely different story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Run Away (Or: Five Places Natasha Visited and the One Place She Stayed)

**Author's Note:**

> Big, klaxon-filled warning: **this story contains spoilers for _Captain America: Civil War_**. They're not major spoilers, but still, enter at your own risk. But no spoilers for _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ , in case you're worried about that. 
> 
> As usual, Sara inspired this story, as she had feelings about Natasha's disappearance at the end of the movie and yelled at me to write this. Like, she snooped on my writing board and everything. But it probably would not exist without her, so I can't complain too much. Thanks to her and also Jen for their quick, sharp beta-reads. They're the best. I've told you that, right?

**I. Malibu, California**

"This'll be one of the first places they look."

Natasha snorts and crosses her arms, her reflection hazy in the tinted windows. Just beyond the glass, the whole Stark Industries corporate compound stretches out in front of her, beautiful white buildings with perfectly manicured lawns. Covered walkways stretch between them, creating a spider's web of glass, metal, and stone.

A whole other world, Natasha thinks, a million miles from the Avengers compound and yesterday's mistakes.

As a man in a business suit scurries into one of the buildings (a rat running into his cage, an uncharitable comparison), Pepper sidles up beside her. Immaculate as her company's campus, all pale skin and perfectly pressed gray suit, she watches Natasha with an unreadable expression.

Natasha tightens her grip on her own arms.

"I wanted to do the right thing," she admits quietly. "I thought that Tony's side . . . "

Pepper huffs, the sound dangerously close to a laugh, and shakes her head. "Tony's living proof that the road to hell is paved with good intentions," she says. "And even when he's right—even when you trust his judgment—the end result always feels a little, well, muddled." The corner of Natasha's mouth twitches without her permission, but Pepper just purses her lips. "He called me," she admits after another moment.

Swallowing down her surprise, Natasha glances back over her shoulder. "About what happened in Germany?"

"No, about you." Natasha rolls her eyes as she turns back to the window, and Pepper sighs. "I think that in his own, completely misguided way, he's worried. And not just about what happened at the airport."

Natasha studies the clots of trees between buildings for a moment before asking, "And you? Are you worried?"

Pepper smiles gently. "Yes," she replies, "but I'm also glad to see you."

 

**II. Fifty-seven miles outside of Vientiane, Laos**

"How'd you find me?"

He sounds perfectly calm, a lake on a clear day, but Natasha reads his discomfort like an open book: the tightness in his shoulders, the cut of his jaw, the way he glances just past her, checking the exit. He telegraphs his discomfort worse than Tony telegraphs a punch, and something deep inside Natasha's chest twists. 

The wind howls through the broken slats of his little house, ruffling her hair. She steps away from the doorway slowly, her hands always in view.

"I never lost you, Doctor," she quips when it's finally quiet again. His mouth tips into the ghost of a smile, and somehow, she smirks back. "I missed you."

He raises an eyebrow. "Me, or—"

"Just you." He nods instead of finishing the question, but she still catches the skepticism in the way he rolls his lips together. She sighs. "Bruce—"

"You messed up, didn't you?" The certainty in his voice surprises her, and she glances away. "Not just by choosing the wrong side—which, by the way, you obviously did. No, you got involved. You threw yourself into the fight instead of—"

"I know." He nods again, ever the absent-minded professor, and she stops studying his rickety cot to finally catalogue him. Not just his shaggy hair and beard, but every detail of the man she once called a friend: the sweat-stained clothes hanging loosely off his frame, the slight stoop to his shoulders, the unfamiliar slim lines of his body, his gentle eyes. They stare at each other for a long time, separated by ten feet of dirt floor and a year of hurt, until she finally shakes her head. "I don't know what happens next," she admits. "I thought I knew what I was doing, but now? No idea."

"You didn't know after S.H.I.E.L.D., either," he points out. "You still survived."

She almost smiles. "After S.H.I.E.L.D., I still had the others. Steve, Clint, Sam . . . " He cocks an eyebrow, almost daring her to add to the list, and she snorts. "I might've burned all my bridges here, Bruce."

"With some people, sure. But with Steve Rogers?" He shakes his head. "No, Steve'll spackle the charred slats back together just to make sure you can cross." His eyes narrow slightly. "And deep down, I think you know that."

She shrugs. "I'm not sure you're right, this time around."

"Or you're lying to yourself," Bruce replies, and turns back to his window. 

 

**III. Waverly, Iowa**

"Is he coming back?"

Natasha squints and tilts her head. "I'm pretty sure the next sentence is about Dawn eating a salad," she says, and Lila immediately rolls her eyes. In a lot of ways, the girl reminds Natasha of her father: funny, attentive, and boundlessly sarcastic. For a moment, Natasha wonders if Clint shares his daughter's disdain for _The Baby-Sitters Club_ series, too.

But before she finishes the thought, Lila pushes the book away and crosses her arms. "I know something's wrong," she insists. "I saw the way Mom kept checking the news. Like she thought the sky was going to fall all over again."

Natasha swallows down her urge to cringe. "No falling countries this time, I promise," she says. She strokes Lila's hair, and the girl melts against her, face halfway hidden in Natasha's shoulder. All around the bedroom, Lila's hung paintings and sketches of her father's exploits: the Battle of New York, the few missions before Sokovia that landed on national news, defeating Ultron. 

The longer Natasha admires them, the more the pit of her stomach aches. 

But instead of admitting that, she adjusts Lila's comforter. "Remember when Cooper broke the back window?" she asks.

Lila instantly jerks her head up. "You knew? Did you tell my dad?" When Natasha raises both eyebrows, the girl huffs. "We tried so hard to keep it a secret," she grumbles. "I can't believe you knew this whole time and never said."

"And since I can't believe you framed the neighbors, we'll call it a wash." Lila wrinkles her nose, but her disappointment fades when Natasha ruffles her hair. "You and Cooper fought about how to deal with the problem, right? He wanted to blame the neighbor kids, you wanted to tell the truth?"

She nods. "But he said Mom and Dad'd blame me because of my bad pitching."

"Having seen you pitch . . . " Lila elbows her, all infectious grin and barely contained giggle, and Natasha sighs as she presses her face in the girl's hair. "Your dad and me, along with the rest of the Avengers, kind of broke something," she explains. "We couldn't agree on how to deal with the problem. And unlike with you and Cooper, we're still trying to figure out how to fix it."

Lila peers up at her. "You can't blame the neighbor?" she asks.

The hope in her voice nearly suffocates Natasha, but she forces herself to smile. "Not this time, sadly," she says, and kisses Lila's temple.

When she creeps out of Lila's bedroom, careful not to wake her, Laura's waiting. In the shadows of the mostly dark hallway, every worry line looks like a canyon. "You don't know where he is, do you?" 

Natasha purses her lips. "I know where he could be," she admits, the words catching slightly. "But there are enough facilities out there that I can't—"

The sudden, hard press of Laura's body against hers—of Laura hugging her, she realizes belatedly, her breath hitching—steals the rest of her sentence. She slumps against the other woman (against her _friend_ , she corrects), and closes her eyes. "I'm glad you're here safe," Laura murmurs after whole seconds of quiet. "Not locked up with my idiot husband in some godforsaken prison."

"He shouldn't be," Natasha replies, her fingers curling in Laura's shirt. "None of them should."

 

**IV. [ Classified ]**

"Do you know the problems these Accords are already causing? That they _will_ cause?"

"Stand down," Phil Coulson instructs, but Melinda May barely blinks. She stands perfectly still, her gun never wavering, and Natasha works very hard to ignore her instincts. Acting on the defense strategy she's already mapped out risks provoking May, and if the gun fires in front of the metal security door—

Phil's jaw tightens. "Melinda."

May's jaw twitches slightly, and Natasha spends a few more seconds at the wrong end of her gun before she finally tucks it away.

At first, no one moves, the three of them stuck staring at each other in the harsh yellow-white light of the base's brick hallway. Or rather, Natasha studies the two agents of the recently resurrected S.H.I.E.L.D. while they both stare her down, waiting for her to break the silence. Phil especially watches her, his eyes sharp but painfully tired. 

He shifts his weight slightly, cane and all, before saying, "You shouldn't be here."

"Would you believe I had nowhere else to go?" she asks. His expression tightens slightly, almost suspicious, and she shakes her head. "I'm not here for the U.N. or for Tony," she promises. "And I'm not here to stay. I just need your help."

May snorts. "Or absolution, more likely." Phil immediately shoots her a sharp look, and she rolls her eyes. "We should be done with favors," she tells him. "Before more people end up dead."

"It wasn't—" Phil protests, but May waves him off to stalk away. He waits until she disappears around a corner to sigh. "Sorry," he says. "We've had a long couple weeks."

"What happened?"

"Too much," he answers, shaking his head. He looks at least a decade older than Natasha remembers him, exhausted and lost in a way that physically pains her, and she wonders for a moment how many of the rumors she's heard about powered humans just might be true. Phil, however, just purses his lips. "Why are you really here?" he asks.

"Like I already said," she replies, shrugging. "I need your help."

He raises an eyebrow. "And?"

The gesture feels so familiar that she can't quite help her smile. "And maybe I missed you," she grudgingly admits, and Phil smiles back.

 

**V. The Raft Prison**

"You're supposed to be in the wind."

"I'm supposed to be a lot of things," Natasha replies, ducking a punch from one of the guards. He stumbles, almost falling, and she knees him in the solar plexus before vaulting the nearest security desk. The next guard snarls, whipping out his baton, and she rolls her eyes as he runs at her.

The rolling chair she shoves at him catches him in the gut, and when he clutches his stomach, she kicks him in the face.

"How'd you find this place, anyway?" Steve asks from across the room. He blocks a few punches before tossing a glance over his shoulder. "Thought they tried to keep it secret."

She shrugs. "Friends in high places," she replies, and Steve grins. He slams one guard's head against the console, but as that particular attacker crumples, another rushes into the room with his hand on his gun. Natasha spots him before Steve even spins around, leaping over two downed security guards to kick the gun out of the guard's hand. He blinks at her, almost uncomprehending, and she sweeps his legs before punching him in the face.

He passes out with a groan, and she brushes hair out of her eyes.

From his spot across the room, Steve smiles. "What?" she demands, stalking to the center control panel.

He shakes his head. "Nothing."

She rolls her eyes. "If you're expecting me to apologize—"

Steve raises both hands. "Wouldn't dream of it," he says, and squeezes her shoulder.

 

**VI. Wakanda**

"How long will it take?"

"Right now, we don't know," T'Challa replies, and Natasha nods unevenly. In the cryochamber, Barnes looks peaceful and unspeakably young, like a shaggy-haired boy down for an afternoon nap. The display screens for all the machines monitoring him case a bluish glow on the glass, transforming his skin into this soft, milky-white color. 

She only narrowly resists her urge to touch the glass.

"He will be well cared for," T'Challa continues, his voice a quiet lilt. Soothing, Natasha thinks, and she schools her face to remain completely neutral. He walks up next to her, their shoulders almost touching. "Our best scientists are working around the clock. Not just to repair his arm, but to heal his mind."

"And you don't object to having him here?" Natasha asks. He raises his eyebrows, and she shrugs. "I'd think that after everything—"

"Like I told Captain Rogers, Mister Barnes is a victim. He deserves this small measure of kindness." He smiles slightly, a comforting gesture, and Natasha smiles back. They stand in silence for a few more seconds before he nods at the chamber. "You knew him, I take it?"

Natasha snorts and shakes her head. "We have a history. Sort of, anyway." His head bobs but never asks for details, his bearing still as regal as when they first met in Vienna. When she's sure he won't press her for more information, she glances back at the chamber. "When do you plan on waking him?"

"In a few months, perhaps," he replies, shrugging. "Our doctors hope to have a solution worth testing by then. I've already promised to contact Captain Rogers as soon as we're ready." She keeps staring straight ahead, studying Barnes's closed eyes and long lashes as much as her own stoic expression reflected in the glass. T'Challa waits a few seconds before adding, "I can contact you when it's time, if you'd like."

Natasha glances back at him. "And if I wanted to stay?"

To his credit, T'Challa limits most of his surprise to a tiny twitch of his mouth. "There is always room for you in Wakanda, Miss Romanoff."

She nods. "In that case, I'd like to stay," she replies, and turns back to the cyrochamber.


End file.
